The First Month
by seventhstatic
Summary: There's no peace in the life of the Dovahkiin. Dryn and Farkas are married, but there are still plenty of issues to work out. fDragonborn Bosmer and Farkas.
1. Dragon's Bite

The word of another dragon attack spread through Whiterun with unnatural speed, the fearing for their lives making the citizens and efficient relay network of alarm. By the time the news reached Jorrvaskr, everyone knew that the Dovakiin had been spotted returning to Whiterun from Windhelm, and she was already en route to the location where the dragon had been last seen. The Companions knew that their shield sister was returning from her trial to join the Stormcloaks, travelling to Serpentstone Isle and defeating the Ice wraith that haunted it and in her usual style, would have taken little if any rest and would be returning with little, if any rest, and fewer supplies. Lydia, her faithful housecarl, would likely be fairing even worse: any proper Nord needed a good mead and a good rest at least every couple days, which was a luxury the fervent Dovakiin was not going to recognize without adequate reminder. So, with brief, unanimous discussion, the Companions currently at the famous mead hall set out to aid their fellow, for solidarity and glory.

They could hear the screaming a mile away from the site. The shrieking of the dragon shook the earth and echoed off of the mountain walls; it forced them faster forward, before the screaming stopped and the worst scenario came to pass. Even from a distance, the massive form of the dragon could be seen leaping into the air, circling tightly and spraying dazzling fire onto the earth below. In their minds, they knew that if anyone was going to survive a dragon attack, the Dovahkiin was a safe bet – but in their hearts, anything could have been happening at the battlefield. Even if Dryn would survive, they could not forget that the loyal Lydia would have been following her Thane doggedly and would be in no shape to fight a dragon.

The first to arrive saw the risks of following anyone into battle blindly, no matter how much you love them or how loyal you are. Taking on a dragon at the side of her Thane- Lydia, a formidable warrior, was struggling to drag her broken body away from the massive demon that plagued her. Only a small elfin warrior stood between her and certain death, and the Bosmer had only a handful of arrows left.

The Companions plunged into battle. Vilkas took his natural role as a leader and immediately began barking commands. "Ria! To Lydia! Companions! Bows at ready, fire at will!" His peers were already on one knee, aiming at the beast and letting fire before he had even finished the order. Aela, whose aim was truest, let fire her arrows nearest to Dryn, skimming passed the elf's shoulder and striking the terrible beast as high on the neck as she could get. The elf seemed not to notice the arrows whistling by her ear, but in truth it was her unwavering trust in her friend that allowed her to ignore the projectiles. She let loose her own arrows until her last, then fell back to hold the position between the dragon and Lydia who was now joined by Ria. The young companion was struggling to get the injured housecarl to her feet.

The dragon, infuriated by this new onslaught, thrashed and danced around the battlefield. It flung out its wings and whipped its long neck around, spouting jets of flame in all directions, trying to scatter the tiny creatures that pestered it. The companions held fast in their positions, bows steady and true. The dragon quickly honed in on the easiest of targets – to where Ria was dragging Lydia away from the fray. Three massive strides and it was nearly upon them, pulling its head back like a snake ready to strike. Aela turned her focus to its back leg to try and draw its attention. Vilkas and Farkas both shouted and, dropping their bows, they charged at the dragon in their own attempt. The closest person, however, was Dryn. Knocked off balance by the force of the dragon's wings passing over head, she stumbled into a dead run – speeding alongside her adversary. As the head came down for the death strike, she ran down its length and leapt upwards, planting her shoulder firmly into its lower jaw before flame or fang could cause any harm. Thrown off its mark, the dragon screamed again, writhing its neck and body around. Ria gave a final heave all of her strength, pulling Lydia up and off of her feet, and staggering their way from the terror.

The twins fell upon the dragon, but the beast was in the middle of full retaliation, and snapped them back with one strike of a powerful wing. The men were fast to recover, but not fast enough. The dragon had its eyes on the one who had denied it a successful kill, and Dryn, dagger in hand, knew fleeing was not an option. If she ran, and somehow got away, it would grab one of the men while they were still regaining their balance. If she ran, someone else would die. Only seconds after she had struck the beast with her shoulder, its jaw shut tight around her ribcage, crushing armour and bone alike.

All the sounds that had been there a moment before were lost in the sudden silence. There was a massive pressure in her skull as the dragon lifted her freely from the ground, whipping its neck like the terrible predator it was in an attempt to snap her spine. The force as she was thrashed like a mouse in the jaws of a cat was unbearable. It felt like an eternity before she realized her arms were free, and longer before she knew they still had some strength left in them. She still held her dagger, and she threw all of her might forward, into the eye of the demon that held her. The pressure released immediately. She felt light again for the briefest of moments before the dragon collapsed and brought her down with it. Hands were suddenly all over, pulling the jaw opening and her out of it. She looked down at herself curiously, as one of the massive teeth withdrew its bloody mass from her abdomen. She wondered how such a thing could have been inside of her without her feeling it.

A familiar voice. She tried to keep her eyes open long enough to see his face and smile. _Oh, Farkas..._

"Dryn, stay here." His face was close to hers, blurring as her eyes unfocused. "That's my hand. You feel that?"

She nodded. There was something warm in her palm that she tried to squeeze.

_Get her to the temple._

* * *

><p>Vilkas was first through the doors, heading straight for the priestess as soon as he entered. Farkas was right behind him, carrying in his arms the elfin dovahkiin. "Danica. I know you don't like us here, but this is important."<p>

The woman stared out from under her hood without emotion, regarding the Companions coolly. As soon as her eyes rested on Dryn though, her face softened. "Bring her in. Set her down here." She moved over to one of the healing beds, pushing aside stray poultices and herbs.

"She is our friend, wounded by a dragon," Vilkas was still explaining their presence but Danica Pure-Spring waved her hand to silence him. She leaned over Dryn as Farkas tenderly placed her on the bed.

"She is known to me." Danica said, smiling.

"You know her?" Aela asked, leaning on her bow anxiously.

The priestess kept her smile firm when meeting the eyes of the companions. "She restored life to the Gildergreen. Dryn will always be welcome here."

Farkas had not moved from his wife's side, keeping her hand safely in his own. He leaned over her ear, and the elf turned her head toward him stiffly. "No wonder you're never home. You must have helped everyone in this town by now."

She squeezed his hand and rested her forehead against his arm. Holding onto her consciousness with everything she had, the world had begun spinning madly, trying what it could to take her out of it. She had glanced down at her torso again, where her once sturdy armour had caved in on itself, jagged pieces had torn their way into her body where the dragon had made its strength known. Farkas' free hand smoothed the damp hair away from her face.

"Can you do something?" Vilkas demanded, hovering over with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

The priestess' brow furrowed as she resisted sending him a glare. "I am. I have asked for Kynareth's guidance in this matter." She removed her fingers from around the talisman at her throat and placed two fingertips onto the hollow in Dryn's throat. Danica nodded. "Her heart is strong. Help me remove her armour."

A second priestess moved silently in the background, drawing a curtain to obscure the bed and those who gathered around it from prying eyes. Farkas tried to assist Danica, but with Dryn refusing to let go of his hand, he was not of much help. Ria and Aela had been on the other side of the curtain when it was drawn, and had gone to assist with Lydia's recovery. The housecarl had a broken arm and several other injuries, but it was already clear she would survive. She had already tried making demands to be at Dryn's side but the priestesses would hear none of it. Vilkas stepped forward awkwardly, waiting for a nod from his brother before he lay a hand on his wife. Between the three of them, they began to remove the bloodied mess. Vilkas recovered from his unease in light of the hard work ahead, sweat appeared almost instantly on his brow and he could see Danica was just as tense. Leather straps and workings had to be cut, and each piece of the armour broken and separated so as to be the most careful with the pieces that had pierced Dryn's body. Danica gave the elf a bit of clean leather to bite down on when they got to the worst of it. The breastplate, the largest piece, was wholly undamaged and removed easily but the many plates that had once fit flawlessly together over her ribcage were now a broken, twisted mess. Vilkas held the end of one while Danica carefully slid the metal out of Dryn's abdomen. Each piece had to be carefully fit back together on the floor to ensure no small bits still remained within the flesh. Each rivet had to be accounted for. Vilkas was unwaveringly precise in this task, while Danica used clean linen to staunch the fresh flow of blood from the freed wounds. He then moved on to removing her boots, greaves and gauntlets – the second gauntlet Farkas removed so as to not disturb where Dryn had decided to keep her hand.

When he was done, Vilkas stood back for a moment, meaning to clean his hands in the nearby basin. However, seeing Dryn so exposed, he halted in his tracks. Dressed now only in light leather pants that only went to her calves and a white linen shirt soaked with sweat and blood so that it clung desperately to her body, he realized he had never seen her in anything but battle-ready attire. The elf always seemed to be off to the next fight, or just returned from the latest rescue. He recalled what Farkas had said quietly an hour before, _no wonder you're never home._ Dryn never seemed to stop, but here she was, lying still and exposed. Danica had begun to cut away the shirt and Vilkas averted his eyes just before the elf's soft, pale skin with its strange, greenish hue became visible.

"Vilkas, water. We need to clean the wound," the priestess urged. He brought the basin over.

"It's not as bad as I thought," Farkas said to Dryn, his voice thick with fear. She had stopped returning the pressure of his hand, and she had not opened her eyes for some time. The strip of leather had fallen unnoticed from her lips after the last piece of metal was removed from her gut. He held her hand in both of his and pressed her knuckles to his lips. He said something barely audible, but Vilkas just heard it, "Stay here."

Vilkas set back to work again with renewed determination. He could feel the pain in his brother's chest as if it were his own, a strangling force of overwhelming despair. Skyrim needed the Dovahkiin, but more importantly, Farkas needed his wife, and Talos be damned if Vilkas was going to let her die. Between he and Danica, they pulled strips of fabric from the wounds until they could be sure the shirt was whole and no pieces were left; then they cleaned and dried the skin, sewing up the worst wounds, binding them all tightly in bandages before finally stepping away from their handiwork.

Vilkas lay a hand on his brother's shoulder, a gesture of solidarity, before following Danica out of the curtain. The priestess looked exhausted, but she managed a tight smile. "She is strong."

"Yes, she is." He looked back at the bed, where he could see his brother's shadowed form in the same position he had left it in. "Strong enough, I hope."

"I have not seen many dragon bites before, but I believe that if she survives the night, that she will live."

* * *

><p>In the early hours of the morning, Farkas stood up to stretch his muscles. He gently laid down the hand he had been holding, and stood up, returning motion to the body that had gone stiff with inactivity. He felt his blood, now free of werewolf taint thanks to Dryn, rushing back into his legs and arms and tingling at the fingertips and toes. Dryn had been breathing steadily for hours, so he felt he could risk a glance away and took a step toward the window of the temple. The inky blue of the sky had begun to lighten at the edges in the very first signs of dawn. Another hour or two, and his wife would have officially lived through the night. He rubbed his temples, then his eyes, and turned back to resume his sentry position on the chair. When he opened his eyes, however, he found himself staring into the red and black depths of Dryn's.<p>

"You're not leaving, are you?" She asked with a faint smile.

He shook his head. "Never."

She raised her hand and he took it without hesitation. "Lie down with me."

The heavy stone alter had more than enough space for the two of them, still, Farkas was exceptionally careful as he crawled up next to her. He put one arm beneath her head as her pillow, and gently laid the other over her hips as she turned her back slightly towards him so that his chest was against her. He pulled the blanket they had lain over her up a bit to make sure she would be warm, then returned his free arm to its previous position. He quickly noticed the heat radiating off of her, and realized she was fevered. Danica had said to expect this and that it was a good sign, so long as it did not last very long.

Dryn sighed and murmured softly. "The dragon spoke to me in my dream." Farkas looked down at her face but her eyes were closed again, in the candlelight he thought he could see her smiling. "It curled itself around my spine and whispered that we had defeated each other. Neither of us had won the argument, but that I was fortunate, for I would live to argue it again."

Farkas kissed her cheek where it joined her ear. "It will not be your last dragon."

"Hmm... no, it won't." She seemed to drift off to sleep again, and he held her a bit tighter. The dragons were inside of her now, he knew, in a place where he could not protect her. Seeing the smile on her face, though, he wondered if she was the one who needed the protection.

* * *

><p>In the morning, the companions were anxious to see Dryn, who had been so near death the night before. Even Lydia had managed to hobble over with the aid of a walking stick, she was too proud to use a shoulder now. When they came upon the bed though, they found it empty. Only the priestess who had been tending to Lydia was there, and she could only offer a shrug as explanation. While Aela berated the poor woman, Vilkas went outside where he found his brother standing beneath the Gildergreen, which had already begun to blossom.<p>

"Farkas! Where is Dryn?" His twin tilted his chin toward the statue of Talos in the square, having no words himself to describe how his wife was up and about.

Dryn was standing, she never kneeled before the gods, and staring the statue in the face. She had on a simple, white robe to hide the dressings that held her wounds, and her dark brown hair was wild around her head. Her face was flushed in the cheeks, and the greenish hue around her temples seemed all the more prominent in the morning light. She truly looked like the wild elf she was, a strange figure from a time before time, challenging the one who had become the Nine. When she heard the commotion, she nodded at the statue the way one who do when saying farewell to a friend, and turned around toward the temple. The others had followed after Vilkas, and now the companions joined the priestesses of Kynareth in staring in astonishment at the Dragonborn.

"I'm not healed," she said, almost defensively at their puzzled faces. "Just... feeling much better." She wandered over to them and Farkas, whose own face had returned to its naturally stoic state, offered her his arm which she took.

"You were on death's doorstep last night." Aela said.

Dryn nodded slowly. "Yes... I know. I should thank you all for your help."

Aela would not accept this. She glowered, but it was one of shame, not anger. "We did not kill the dragon. Having your dagger inside its brain is what did it in. And Farkas carried you back here. The best we can claim is putting a few arrows in its hide."

"I think I might have hit it with the flat side of my sword just before it went up in flame," Farkas said, a smile curling the edge of his lips.

"A good man you've got there," Aela said with a laugh.

"You only managed that because I had it distracted with all of my flopping around." Lydia said, willing to join in the laughter at their own expense.

"You should join up, Lydia," Ria quipped. "You were flopping around better than Vilkas and Farkas when that damn beast knocked them right on their asses."

Even Dryn laughed then, though softly so as not to move her stomach too much. Danica wouldn't forgive her if she pulled a stitch. Only Vilkas wasn't laughing. While everyone continued on, he stalked silently off towards Jorrvaskr, not glancing back.


	2. An Argument Between Brothers

It was a few days of recuperation before Dryn returned to Jorrvaskr. She was feeling restless, and with all the health potions she had received from well-wishers, she was back to believing herself unstoppable. Still, not a single one of her cohorts would allow her to leave the city yet, so she was forced to wander within the walls of Whiterun. After some consideration, she felt the only place in Whiterun she had had business to attend to was the hall of the Companions, and so she wandered there after idly visiting the shops in the plains district. Once inside, she took the stairs down into the living quarters as casually as she could but her heart was starting to weigh heavily in her chest once she hit the bottom step. She swallowed her misgivings and ventured forward. Vilkas was sitting on his bed when Dryn entered. She hadn't bothered with knocking, the door was open, but she felt an immediate sense of intrusion. For a moment she considered leaving, but he was her friend, and now her brother-in-law, and she could not stand for him being distressed. Not if she could help it, anyways. "Are you alright?" She came a step further into the room.

The former werewolf raised his head from where it had been resting in his hands, but he could not bring himself to look at her face. Instead, he spoke to the stones tiles on the floor. "He loves you, you know."

Dryn swallowed on a dry throat. For the second time in as many minutes, she thought about leaving Vilkas to his thoughts. "I should hope so." She tried to say this lightly, but it came out flat.

"They say I'm the smart one, but for the past month, I've never felt so stupid." He shook his head roughly, the corner of his eye catching her boots and staying there.

"Vilkas..." she said cautiously, more of a warning to herself than to him. "You're not- "

"I want to say it. I shouldn't, but if I keep letting it roll around in my head I'm going to go mad." His gaze raised to her torso, but when the images of her gaping wounds flashed through his mind, his eyes fell again. He closed them tight against the sight of her dying. "When I saw the dragon take you, I thought I knew how Farkas felt. I roared just as loud as him, and ran just as fast. Then seeing you lying there, just dying on the table, I thought my heart would fall right out of my chest and I would die." Finally, he opened his eyes and stared her dead in the face. "And I said to myself it should have been me, at your side, holding your hand in the end."

Dryn could say nothing, and his eyes on her kept her still where she stood.

The intensity of his gaze lessened somewhat with his next words. "But when I heard Farkas speak to you, when I heard his pain, I knew I had been a fool. I could never feel what he felt, never... because yes, he loves you, and I love you... but you love him. And I'll never know that."

Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she came forward and sat next to him. He instinctively took her hand, without Farkas' presence to deter him, he could not help himself. Dryn allowed the contact. "Vilkas, you are my brother in arms, and now the brother of my heart. I do love you. But Farkas, he is my husband."

"Tell me, I need to hear it," he said, his voice husky with loss. "If I had said something... less foolish, when I saw you with the amulet, would it have been me? Could it have been?"

It was an impossible request, but he had asked, and Dryn was not so kind as to deny him the truth. "I went all the way to Riften, on foot, to learn of marriage in Skyrim and to learn what I had to do. I wore the amulet all the way back here, displayed it proudly, so that all could see as I marched up the road to Whiterun and to Jorrvaskr. I ran into Aela first, and what she said I will keep between her and I. Then I ran into you." She felt his hand tighten on hers, and his face was tight with pleading. "And it would not have mattered what you said, because I had come to the mead hall to find Farkas – the man whom I wanted to marry."

"But he said you two hadn't even discussed it, that there was never time." He was nearly angry, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "That he hasn't even yet told you how he feels." Vilkas heard her words, but had not yet taken them to heart.

"I don't need him to say it. Skyrim is a dangerous place as it is, and I spend half my time chasing dragons. I could be dead tomorrow. There's no time to wait for your brother to find the words." She tried to make a joke at Farkas' expense, but it rung hollow and tasteless in the mood of the room.

"Any of us could be dead tomorrow," he replied, his tone laced with annoyance now, at himself and at her. "And still you chose him. You're right, you know, there's not enough time spent in this world and it's best to seize the moment." He grabbed her shoulder and planted his mouth on hers. She pushed him away roughly, but the movement yanked at her stitches and she winced. "I'm twice the man he is." He tried to take her by the neck and pull her in to him.

Dryn rolled out from under his hand and quickly stood up, and hand at her stomach where she had felt a tear. "Stop, Vilkas. Think about what you're doing."

Fury coursed through his veins, and if he had still been a werewolf it may have gotten the best of him. He was a man now, though, and shame quickly clouded his anger and he did not move after her. He placed a hand over his mouth. "I cannot seem to cease acting like a fool around you." He sighed bitterly. "Please, don't tell Farkas."

"Don't tell me what?" his brother appeared from around the corner, far too quiet for a man of his size, and seeing Dryn holding her wound he immediately moved to her side. "What's going on?" He put his arm around her waist so that she could lean on him, but she didn't.

Dryn place her free hand on his chest as Vilkas got to his feet, she thought the tension in the air might suffocate them all. "I think we should go."

"Did you touch her? You hurt her and I swear by the nine I will –" Farkas choked on the words, infuriated.

Vilkas rose to the challenge easily, his own anger shifting from himself to his brother. "You'll what? By the time you figure out the end of the sentence, we'll all of died of old age! Take your woman and get out of here."

"You bastard," Farkas growled.

"No more so than you, _brother_." Vilkas couldn't believe his own twin would accuse him of hurting Dryn, but the anger was flowing freely now and he could not hear his own thoughts.

"Stop it, the both of you," Dryn demanded, pushing Farkas' arm firmly. The man was like a tree, there was no give beneath her touch. She could feel how tense his muscles were under the fabric of his coarse shirt.

Neither of them could let it go now, and Vilkas was willing to go the next step. "Courtyard. Now."

"After you." Farkas took his hands off of Dryn, and she let her own fall helplessly to her sides. She took a defeated step backwards, out of the line of sight.

"You're always a few steps behind me, aren't you?" Vilkas quipped acidly, leaving the room. Farkas followed him out.

* * *

><p>Vilkas struck first, a clean hit straight to the face. His brother stumbled back a bit with the sudden shock, but hastily raised his hands and began to circle as Vilkas did. The smaller of the two brothers was undoubtedly the faster, and he knew it, he would have to wear his brother down as the taller held the stronger punch, and dodging them would be the main goal. He swung again but Farkas' side-stepped and the blow just grazed his shoulder.<p>

Both naked from the waist up, bare chests tense and rippling, they made quite a spectacle in the middle of the courtyard of Jorrvaskr. Their fellow companions had wandered out after them curiously, some, Aela in particular, were watching coolly from a distance; while most of the others were goading them on. Dryn followed eventually, standing quietly next to Aela and sipping a health potion idly.

The brothers circled each other like the reflection of a mirror, each waiting for the other to strike. If Vilkas had been more calm, he would have recognized an unfamiliar patience in Farkas; he had yet to throw his first punch, when Vilkas moved in again, aiming low at the ribcage. The hit connected, hard, but Farkas had already exhaled in preparation and did not lose any ground. While recoiling from the successful strike, Vilkas left himself open on his right side and Farkas' fist slammed with unforgiving force into his jaw. Before Vilkas could regain his balance, Farkas hit him again in rapid succession.

Farkas was furious, but he discovered in himself a still centre to the storm. In it he heard Dryn, when she described the fist fights she had encountered in her travels: "_Most are stronger, some are faster; I win because I wait. Sometimes, one mistake is all it takes_."

It would take more than one mistake for Vilkas to go down, but Farkas was patient.

The fight ate away the rest of the afternoon, and it was growing dark by the time everyone came inside for some revelry to celebrate the breaking of the tension. The mead flowed liberally, each having more than their fair share, and Jorrvaskr was once again filled with the joy of brotherhood. The twins raised their mugs several times to each other, each boasting a proud black eye and a multitude of bruises, but their smiles were easy again. The matter had been settled. Farkas had won, fair and square.

It was much passed midnight before the door of Breezehome thudded open, waking Dryn up. She heard the heavy footsteps thundering downstairs, finding their way to the steps, and thumping heavily on each one as her husband made his way to their bedroom. She heard Lydia's door open in alarm, then close again quietly after determining the identity of the intruder. Finally, the door to the bedroom creaked open slowly, in a long since failed attempt not to disturb her. Smiling to herself wryly, she sat up and slid back, so that she could lean against the wall and her pillow. She watched Farkas carefully close the door behind him, eventually turning around and, not seeing her in the dim light, strip off his clothes and slump face first onto the bed. She lay a hand on the space between his shoulder blades.

Grunting, he rolled over. "You're up."

"Mm," she smiled a little wider in spite of herself. He smelled strongly, a mix of sweat, blood, and alcohol. "Your brother made a mess of you."

He laughed, reaching up to pull her down next to him. His hands were rough, the knuckles bruised and bloodied. "You should see him." She let him position her into his arms, nuzzling his grizzly chin into the hollow of her neck the way he liked to. "Where did you go?"

It was her turn to laugh, "Home, you oaf." She took his hand off of her breast where it had been exploring. "I'm mortally wounded, remember? On bed rest? Poor crippled Lydia had to walk me home, my husband was too busy pummelling and getting pummelled."

"Hmm, I'm sorry," his lips began roving the length of her neck. "How are you feeling?"

"Ah," his hands slid across her belly, far more tenderly than she would have expected considering his current state. "...better. Danica is a hell of an alchemist." She squirmed beneath him as he searched lower, "Still-"

"I'll be gentle." He pulled up the edges of the thin slip she was wearing until it was around her waist. Then, one hand slipped between her thighs while the other cradled her softly against his chest. His lips caressed her earlobe and coaxed a moan from her mouth. She could smell the mead on his breath as it drifted over her, hot on the back of her neck. His tongue flicked in unison with his fingers on her body below, and she felt the ache crawl up her spine.

"Farkas..." she breathed, but she wasn't asking him to stop anymore. He slid a finger inside of her, questioning her, and she answered with an airy gasp, her back arching into him. He held her closer to him, using his knee to hold her thighs apart as he pressed himself against her. His finger withdrew and was promptly replaced with a much larger adversary.

He kept his promise though, entering her slowly until he was completely sheathed. Holding his palm against her pelvic bone, he kept her pinned to him as he rocked his hips leisurely, pulling out of her and thrusting back in with the utmost care. Dryn's gasps became low, guttural moans, her hand crawling along his neck to the back of his skull, twining into his long hair. Twisting her head, she brought his mouth to hers, their tongues meeting eagerly.

His fingertips found her clit, rubbing firmly in small circles. She tried to arch away from him again, but he held her where she was; the hollow of her back slick with sweat against the hard muscles of his stomach. Her breathing came in sharp, shallow pants; her body rising and falling in his hands with each one of his movements. The heat began to rise in the centre of her being, spreading wildly over her skin, wherever his flesh met hers, she was on fire. Her body began to shudder, trembling out of control from the fire he had set in her.

He felt her getting close and he let himself move faster into her, encouraged by her moaning in his ear. As she reached her peak, crying out his name, he fell over the edge after her. He hugged her to his chest, groaning into her neck as he released himself into her.

* * *

><p>Dryn was watching the light of day grow warmer and brighter in the square frame of the window as her husband traced the scars on her stomach with the lightest touch of his fingertips. Most were nearly healed, with the exception of the deepest which would take a handful more potions and poultices, and time. When she felt the touch of his lips on the sensitive skin beneath her last rib, she smiled and drew her attention back to him. He was looking just as dishevelled as she was, perhaps more so, but the warm glow of morning caught him just right and she thought he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. "Will I live?" she asked playfully.<p>

"Seems nothing's going to stop you," he brushed his hand upward to the curve of her breast, following along the edge of it in a curious way.

She watched him, studying her body, until at last he met her eyes and matched her smile. She felt a strange fluttering within herself before she asked her next question. "Why did you marry me, Farkas?"

The hint of a frown marred his brow. "Hmm. Vilkas said something." He rolled onto his back, not far away, but no longer touching her.

"Yes, he did. And then you beat the hell out of him," she said lightly, edging down the length of the bed toward him. She didn't dare continue the contact, but there was an uncomfortable chill where his hands had just been.

"We had some things to work out," he replied, not as light-hearted as she. He was painfully casual now, and Dryn didn't like it. "Not the first time we fought over a woman."

Sitting up, she felt suddenly naked in the coolness of the room. She reached over the edge of the bed and grabbed a simple dress that was slung over the corner of the dresser. Pulling it over her head, she saw that Farkas seemed to have the same idea, already slipping into the pants he had discarded the day before. He took a step forward to grab his shirt, which she mistook as a step toward the door. "Wait." He picked up the shirt but stopped and stared at her when she spoke. The light from the window had become harsh and cast a shadow on his features, she couldn't read what he was thinking. "I wasn't trying to upset you."

His head tilted slightly to the side. Shaking out the shirt, he yanked it on. "I'm not upset."

"Then talk to me a moment." She got up as well, picking up a brown apron and wearing it over the dress. She was tying the straps while Farkas sat down at the small table in the room.

"We are talking."

Dryn suppressed a sigh of frustration. All men seemed to associate the act of physically speaking with the notion of sorting out issues, as if the two were indistinguishable. "I'd like to get something straightened out, without the need for us to punch each other in the face repeatedly."

That coaxed a smirk out of him, but no response.

Finishing with the ties on her clothing, she began to braid her hair so as to keep her hands busy while she figured out how to string the words together. "I think I've been a bit naive about this." Feeling terribly awkward standing, and sitting at the table with Farkas would be too close for comfort, she opted to perch on the edge of the bed. "I think Athis may have said it best. That you're just kind-hearted enough to have married me to protect me. An elf in Skyrim is no popular figure nowadays, nearly as bad as being an Imperial, and as much as I understand that, I guess I wasn't really thinking."

Farkas' frown deepened. Perhaps feeling his own hands need to be occupied, he began putting on and lacing up his boots. He wasn't meeting her eyes anymore.

Her heart began to ache dully in her chest. She would have to ignore it though, there was no where to go from here but forward. Swallowing deeply, she grabbed a couple pins from where she had left them in the apron pocket and tucked her hair back securely. "But..."

"I'll be a good husband to you," he said gruffly, pulling harder on the laces than he needed to."You don't have to worry about anything. I'm not dumb, I know what I agreed to."

"What? No, I... hmph," Dryn bit her lip and stared hard at him, but he was looking at his boots like they were the most interesting things on the continent. "Damn it, Farkas, I love you!"

His face and eyebrows shot up in surprise. Even his mouth was hanging open just slightly as he regarded her slowly. It was a few moments before he said anything to break the silence, but she could not speak herself, frozen in time, knowing she had to wait until he spoke first. His face slowly relaxed, then darkened into a frown once again. "Since when?"

She nearly rolled her eyes, but caught herself just before. She wanted to cry, laugh, and shriek in frustration all at the same time. "Since always! It's why married you. I wanted to make sure you married me for the same reason."

"Hmm," his hand left his boot and scratched his chin idly, the sound of his fingernails against the stubble doing nothing for her nerves. "You didn't ask if I loved you. You asked why I married you."

Dryn could not help narrowing her eyes at him now, in confusion and not yet annoyance. "Are the two really separate questions?"

"Mmhmm," he stretched his arms in front of him, then settled them, fingers entwined, behind his head in a display of calm that Dryn found grating. "I didn't marry you because I love you. I married you because you were wearing that wretched amulet, and I'd be damned if I let anyone else have you." He looked at her through hooded eyelids and smiled wolfishly.

Letting her hands fall to her sides, she laughed.

"And since you're going to ask, yeah, I love you."


	3. Battle for Whiterun

The next day, the sun had hid itself behind a heavy blanket of white clouds, leaving Skyrim to collectively tremble in the prickling chill. Farkas could see in his wife a change just as clear as the weather; she was edgy from inactivity, and it wouldn't be long before the troubles of the world called her away again. He understood it would be in bad taste to thank the gods that she had spent the last week with him in Whiterun, considering the circumstances, but he could not help thinking it every once in awhile. She dressed in simple townsfolk clothing again, plaiting her hair back dutifully, slipping on her bond of matrimony and then her ring she swore increased her archer's skills. He knew right then she would be leaving. There were other small changes that he noticed as he followed her down the stairs: her bow had been restrung before returning to hang on the rack by the door; the salvaged pieces of her elven armour were strewn about in conspicuous places – her breastplate mysteriously repaired and propped up in the corner. The passed week had been the longest amount of time they had spent together since the very first outing they had gone on to search for the shard of Wuuthrad and he was not happy to see it at an end.

Lydia had excused herself, claiming an errand, so they ate breakfast the two of them alone. Dryn would smile at him placidly when he met her eyes, already her focus was turned inward to where she had to go next, what she had to accomplish. He could see that she was resisting taking out her journal right in from of him, scouring over her many notes, accounts and rumours of promising adventure. If he were to turn his back though, or leave the room, he could be assured she would have it out and be deciding which path to take to her next goal. Farkas wondered if she even had a goal in mind, or whether she just needed to be _away_ again.

Leaving the house into the cold morning, Dryn was several paces ahead of him, just as eager to be out of the house as she clearly was to be out of the city. "I'm going to Jorrvaskr," he said.

The elf spun around, as if she was surprised that he was so far behind her. She took a couple sheepish steps closer. "I'll walk with you. I wanted to see Belethor about his latest shipment."

"Arrows?" he started off up the street, and she fell into pace with him, shrugging in response to his question. "Aela's got some bandit trouble." He dropped the statement casually, careful not to phrase it as an offer. It was no secret that Dryn had a strange obsession with rooting out bandits wherever they happened to crop up. Even if she had a more important task to accomplish, she gone off a half dozen times into the depths of a mine or ruin to wipe out outlaw infestations. Aela had asked him whether Dryn was feeling up to a slaughter, and he'd promised to bring it up with his wife when he had a moment.

If she was going to be leaving anyways, he thought, he may as well go with her.

"Oh?" Dryn's eyes lit up and he knew she'd caught the scent of adventure. It might not have been dragons, or a life-altering mission, but it was something for her to do and it wouldn't take her far away. "What's been happening?"

"The usual- attacking trading caravans and the like," he reached for her hand and she returned the gesture, weaving her fingers into his. "She thinks a couple of them are ex-Silver Hand, so it makes sense she's taken an interest."

Dryn wrinkled her nose in disgust. She had defeated her wolf spirit and cured herself of her lycanthropy as the twins had done, but there would always be a deep, sour note in her heart when the Silver Hand were mentioned. The loss of Skjor and Kodlak were unforgivable trespasses and she would forever be bitter. All the more reason to assist Aela in ridding Skyrim of any last remnants.

It was unfortunate then, that as soon as Farkas had her interest piqued, and he was sure she would accompany the Companions are their little quest, that a courier raced right up to them, nearly colliding with Dryn. "Letter for you! Your hands only." The elf, a Bosmer like Dryn but long since acclimated to Skyrim and city life, rummaged through his pack and shoved the aforementioned letter into her hands. "That's it." With the same speed he had arrived with, he left with off to deliver other news to other people.

A bit stunned, Dryn turned the letter over curiously in her hand. She had regularly received quaint missives from people she had helped, or people who wanted to help her, but this was thick, expensive parchment sealed with official-looking red wax. The formal, sprawling writing that addressed the letter to her made her name seemed significantly fancier than it was. The imprint in the wax was the paw of a bear.

Farkas had let go of her hand, watching over her shoulder as she broke the seal. "It's from Ulfric, isn't it?"

A flicker of guilt passed over Dryn's face, before she nodded once in acknowledgement. "He said he'd contact me soon..." she began to read the letter, explaining herself slowly as she did. "He gave me an axe to deliver to Jarl Balgruuf, but I was to wait until I was contacted. I guess they're ready now."

"An axe?" Farkas recognized the nord tradition, and wondered if Dryn saw the significance. He watched as she folded the letter carefully, and slid it into her pocket. Sighing inwardly, he knew he had lost her to the Stormcloaks again. Her lust for bandit blood, or vengeance against the Silver Hand, still could not take precedence over the mad battle of Ulfric Stormcloak and his wild rebellion. The strangest thing for an elf to be obsessed with, but he wasn't going to start the fight they'd had over it again. "You had better get to Balgruuf then."

Dryn's red and black eyes snapped up at him curiously. She knew Farkas didn't hate the Stormcloaks, but he was oddly unsettled by his Bosmer wife participating so actively in the civil war. After Helgen and her near execution, she had made no secret of her hatred for the Empire, and had nearly as much Imperial blood on her hands as she did bandit. Still, Farkas not making any protest whatsoever left her feeling wary. Ulfric had given a command, though, and she intended to follow it promptly. "I guess I better."

"I'll help Aela," he said in finality. Feeling the familiar sensation in his heart that she was slipping away from him again, he opened his arms and was comforted when she happily joined his embrace. He memorized the moment: his small, wild woman wrapped in his arms, intensely warm against the frozen world around her, nestling her face into his chest; because he didn't know when they would share another. "And Dryn."

"Yes?" She turned her chin up towards him with a subtle smile.

"I love you. So be careful this time."

Her smile grew a little wider. She lifted herself up on her toes and kissed him softly. "I love you, too."

* * *

><p>Dryn had done everything short of begging, which she was ashamed to admit she had nearly done. Jarl Balgruuf's words were ringing in her ears as the doors to Dragonsreach closed behind her.<p>

_It's time for Ulfric to face me as a man, or march his Stormcloaks up to the gates._

She had asked him to reconsider. To see what she had seen in the faces of the Imperials, to see that Skyrim, as all countries, needed to be free of this fickle tyranny. Irileth, who had never been on Dryn's side but who was still a sensible woman, had brought up the White Gold Concordat; and still, even in his fury, Balgruuf did not turn from his sway towards the Empire.

_You can return this axe to our friend. The esteemed Jarl of Windhelm has my answer. Make sure he gets it._

She was desperate then. Setting her foot on the step to the dais, she stared him in the eye and pleaded him to think harder about it. In his face though, she saw the decision had been made, likely before she had even broached the subject. He told her that she had to go now, that it was by his grace that she was not executed right then.

_Deliver the axe, personally, as a last act of our friendship. If you come back to Whiterun, or step foot again in this hall, I'll brand you a traitor and have your head right back on the block._

She was escorted out of the city by Whiterun guards, not even permitted to stop at her own home to collect her things. They marched her right out of the gates, and saw her onto the carriage to Windhelm before any of them turned back to the city. Without her weapons and without her armour, Dryn was on her way back to Ulfric with Balgruuf's answer.

* * *

><p>"Then I was wrong about him," Ulfric said in his rumbling purr. Leaning over his map, coloured flags beneath his gaze, he surveyed the country he loved. "You were right, Galmar."<p>

"Again?" grunted the old warlord.

Ulfric Stormcloak sidled around the table, dragging a finger carefully along borders. "I'm in no mood to joke."

As soon as she had arrived at Windhelm, Dryn had abandoned her simple civilian garb in favour of the armour available to all Stormcloak soldiers. In the blue tunic and leather armor, she fitted the part of one of Ulfric's loyal soldiers, but she wasn't feeling it. As the two men went back and forth, Galmar eager and encouraging, while the leader of the rebellion appeared disinclined to waste the lives he knew he had to, Dryn sunk into her own thoughts. Exiled from Whiterun, she had been denied the opportunity to even explain to her husband or her friends what had happened. Her friend, _former friend_, she thought bitterly, Jarl Balgruuf had openly declared his intent to kill her if he ever saw her again. She had made her decision to join the Stormcloaks, but now it seemed she had no choice but to forcefully overtake the city she loved. There was no way she would let them not include her in the battle, though she imagined they would certainly want her there; because she knew, in her heart, that she needed to be there to protect the ones she loved – and to make the bastard Balgruuf kneel before her in surrender. Her bitterness was not well placed, she was not seeing how the Jarl was just trying to protect his people, she was only seeing that he had chosen to side against her, and he would pay for his folly.

The camp outside Whiterun was ready, it had been for some time. The week long delay in her delivering the axe had only been for Galmar to do a personal inspection of the troops. Ulfric had genuinely believed the other Jarl would prove that he was a true Nord, but he was a tactful enough leader to prepare for the possibility that the opposite might come true. When the discussion ended, Galmar left in the utmost hurry, the glory of battle like a carrot in front of him. For a handful of moments, Dryn was alone with Ulfric. She pulled herself out of her own head in order to give him the attention and respect that he deserved.

The leader of the rebellion was studying her coolly. They had never been alone in a room together, and Dryn felt a sudden awkwardness creeping up on her. She had spent very little time in the presence of nobility, and there was a pang of guilt from her current resentment of Balgruuf. At least the Jarl had always been welcoming of her, kind and friendly, considering she had done a number of favours in the name of Whiterun. She had quickly become his Thane, and his friend, and she had never felt herself to be his lesser. In the presence of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, however, she suffered a case of feeling very small- something she was not accustomed to.

"I want you on the front lines," he said, his palms on the edge of the table. His cold eyes never wavered, never left her face. "I have a feeling about you. Your place is on the battlefield and I want you there."

She nodded, "Understood." Hesitating before leaving, she finally recognized that one was not supposed to leave the company of a Jarl unless dismissed and she was not sure if what he had said was an immediate dismissal.

The span of a few breaths passed before he spoke again. "You live in Whiterun, don't you?"

Clenching her fists, renewed rage at Balgruuf surfacing, she had to bite back the hostility that threatened to come forth. It was definitely not appropriate to vent one's frustrations to a Jarl. "I have a home there, yes. And friends."

If Ulfric Stormcloak, the indomitable spirit of pride and righteousness in Skyrim, could show any sympathy to another being, he was then. "The battle will have started by the time you get there. I don't have the opportunity to say it often, so I will say it to you. I am sorry for what this war has wrought."

His unexpected compassion stung her hard. For a second, she lost the air in her lungs. Her bitterness flickered and waned, and for the time he held her gaze and she saw that his word and heart were true, she felt a stillness and lightness that was unfamiliar to her. It was as if he had taken all of her sorrows and her burdens and placed them onto himself with a few simple words. She knew then, why Ulfric had such a following, why men and women flocked to him in such numbers. She knew then, that Ulfric was meant to be High King.

The city was burning. Catapults reined fire as terrible as a dragon, flying at the city and from within its walls. A great ball of flame struck the earth only a few dozen paces from where Dryn stood, as she listened to the words of Galmar. In the garb of a Stormcloak soldier, she was indistinguishable from the rest of them; in her hands she held an unfamiliar bow, at her hip a borrowed dagger. Galmar was quick and concise, and soon they were running, dodging and ducking as they sped toward the hill that led to the city. For the beginning, she kept pace with her fellow soldiers, holding back and staying with them. Staying together meant staying alive, she kept telling herself, but at the first sign of a Imperial colours flashing amongst the stones, the first arrow to narrowly miss her, the rage took over.

Dryn held the hunting bow in her hands, notching the simple steel arrows. Nothing near the quality of her own weapons, what was sharp and pointy would suffice with cutting into the flesh of her enemies. If it had been a Whiterun guard she saw first, it may have caused her to hesitate, to feel at least some regret; but when she saw red cloth beneath plate mail, she saw only blood after that. The first fell with an arrow in his throat. The next took two, one in the shoulder and the next in his gut. The defending soldiers had sensibly taken the high ground, staying on the walls to peg off the invaders; but they had not anticipated the unrelenting accuracy of the Dragonborn. Her natural skill from her years trained by her countrymen, led to a remarkable fluidity to her movements- drawing an arrow and letting it fly in one smooth action. Her arrows flew with such speed, that she quickly had to loot the corpses she came across, Imperial and Stormcloak alike, to gather fresh ammunition.

While her fellows locked themselves in close combat, or attempted to bring down the gate with force, Dryn leapt onto the rubble, deftly climbing it until she was face to face with the defenders. Her dagger skills were not so honed, but she was still a formidable challenge- small and fast with the blade. The unlucky Whiterun soldier to engage her was given a deep, fatal wound to the gut, spilling his innards so that he would be in horrendous pain for the hours it would take him to die. So absorbed was she in the mayhem, that it took a Stormcloak soldier below yelling up at her for her to take practical action. "Open the gate!"

In between fights, she slammed down the lever and the drawbridge crashed into the ground. The Stormcloaks poured in, the tide to claim the city was turning.

Inside, her feet took her straight home- the door hanging ajar and not a soul within. Her armour lay scattered where she had left it, but her bow was gone. There was no time to change, she would have to make do with what she had. Grabbing a handful of arrows where she kept them by the door, she left Breezehome and made a beeline straight for Dragonsreach.

She met up with Galmar and a handful of soldiers on the stairs, but no words needed to be exchanged. They were at the stronghold for one purpose. Galmar led the way, but Dryn was at his elbow, fresh arrows notched as they broke down the door. The defence was less than expected- the Jarl had sent out most of his soldiers to protect the city, and had left very few for himself. However, he was not cowering in some far room, he was in the middle of the hall, waiting for them. Irileth was at his side, and the two were amongst the charge that met the Stormcloaks.

Dryn set sights on the dark elf, but Irileth was ready for her and the arrows went wide. The Dunmer leapt from the height of the stairs over the fray, swinging her sword to take off Dryn's head. Stumbling backwards, she narrowly avoided the razor sharp blade, and had to quickly duck another swing. With no time between advances to draw her dagger, she swung her bow around and used it to parry the next attack. The blade stuck in the wood, nearly snapping it but not quite, allowing Dryn to push forward and swipe the other end of the bow upwards into Irileth's jaw. It was just enough to set the other woman off balance, and in one, slick motion, Dryn unsheathed her dagger and drove it into the dark elf's shoulder. It was not a killing blow, but it took her down, and Balgruuf was next.

Galmar had sufficiently beaten back the Jarl, and needed only the timely addition of Dryn to bring the man to his knees. "Enough! That's enough, I surrender... I surrender."


	4. Transgressions, Past and Present

A new sun was rising on Whiterun. For better or ill, Vignar Gray-Mane was on the throne in Dragonsreach, and Stormcloak soldiers marched the streets to restore order. In the days that followed, the city returned to its normal paces slowly, repairing wounds and broken buildings; burying loved ones and imprisoning any surviving Legionnaires. The speed at which the siege progressed in its last day was widely attributed to the Dovahkiin, who had reportedly slaughtered her way to the stronghold and single-handedly wrought the surrender of Balgruff the Greater. Dryn corrected those who she heard speak these rumours aloud, and would tell her version if pressed, but she lost interest in deterring the gossip-mongers within a week.

After discovering that Aela, Farkas and Ria were still out hunting bandits from the ever-surly Njada Stonearm, and that they had missed the entirety of the siege, Dryn felt strangely out-of-place in her home city. Hoping to get some distance from the issue, she decided to accompany Galmar back to Windhelm. There, they gave their report to Jarl Ulfric, who was greatly pleased at the news. He explained that Whiterun was a powerful position, a central strategic point for the war; he asked how the battle went, but Dryn was subdued in her responses. When asked how many Imperial soldiers she had eliminated, she merely shrugged. They both mistook her quiet for callousness, and laughed when they called her "Ice-Veins." She took her leave when she could, and left the city. She wasn't feeling good about Whiterun; the result had left her deeply unsatisfied. She wasn't ready to head back and see again what her actions had wrought, so she began to wander.

The wilds of Skyrim were a dangerous place. More dangerous, it seemed, now that her Voice and her reputation seemed to be an irresistible attraction to all things troublesome. Still, the snowy, silent landscape just steps outside of Windhelm beckoned her with a promise of solitude. Some time alone to her thoughts might clear her head, or so she hoped. Following the city-side of the river northward, she abandoned all paths and trails in favour of unspoilt, snow-covered earth. There was a gratifying crunch beneath her feet with every stride she took. Her friend, Jarlf Balgruuf, had sided against her, and as a result had lost everything. She did not even know where he was; imprisoned somewhere or already executed, but she didn't really want to know. She asked herself how many others she was willing to sacrifice for her ideals, and was unsettled when there was no answer in her heart.

"S'pose you're thinking of getting yourself lost."

The familiar voice startled her back to reality. Dryn couldn't fathom how he had snuck up on her, and rued the day when someone who intended to do her harm could do the same. She did not even flinch, however, only the hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the sudden intrusion. She kept walking, and only now heard the footsteps following her. "I don't often let myself get lost."

"No," Vilkas' longer legs caught up with her in short order, now that she was aware of his presence. "You only do it once in awhile."

She could hear a smile on his lips without looking at him, but she didn't like the sound of his tone. Being mocked was not something that sat well with her, especially in her current mood. Unable to keep her annoyance out of her response, her next words had a harsh clip to them, "What are you doing here, Vilkas?" Her aimless walking had led them to a small rise over the river, where she stopped and to gaze out at the wilderness.

"We wanted to know that you were alright," he said flippantly, as if stalking her throughout Skyrim was a perfectly normal thing to do. "Lydia was worried about you." Vilkas moved a bit ahead, creeping into the corner of her vision.

"Then why are _you_ here and not Lydia?"

"_Because_ she is not nearly as good a tracker as I am, and housecarls do not heal as quickly as Dragonborn do." He looked over his shoulder at her, his silver eyes reflecting the dying sunlight. Night was falling. "And besides, I was worried about you, too."

"All this way, Vilkas," she mumbled in exasperation. It wasn't right to her, that he had come so far just to check up on her. "I'm fine."

He laughed shortly, stinging her already nettled pride. "I don't believe you." He turn on his heal, facing her now, and sidled a little closer. She immediately took a retreating step, but he closed the gap again.

"I thought we were done with this, Vilkas," she scowled at him. If she could have been a foot taller, she would have wanted to be the most right then, but as it was he towered over her and the shadow he cast left her in darkness.

"You can play the role of pious wife back in Whiterun," the contemptuous smile still on his lips. As soon as she stopped taking backwards strides, he stopped approaching, but he was within arms' reach now. "But out here, you're still as fierce as the wild."

"You and Farkas sorted this out. This is done with and I don't want it mentioned again." Holding her ground now, he was still uncomfortably close to her. Her glare increased exponentially. Her hand right hand hovered near her borrowed dagger, but her head thought better of using it. Not unless she absolutely had to.

"Yes, he and I have settled. He won, you're his wife." Vilkas raised his hand to touch her face and she smacked it away with force. His smile never wavered, but his eyebrows knit a little closer together. "But what's between you and I can't be worked out so easily."

"Stop it." She wanted to push him away, but she still hoped, foolishly, that she could talk him away from her.

"That night, you told me things even Farkas doesn't know," his voice was low and rasping, his face ever closer to hers. "That night, it could have been me."

"It was never you," she asserted firmly. "I was weak."

"You kissed me, remember," he growled hungrily. "I'm not the one who started this. If you think about me half as much as I do you, I must be on your mind quite often."

That was it, she discovered. The line she wouldn't let him cross. Violently, she pushed him away. "I don't think about you at all!" Blood boiling, she found herself clenching her fists.

Vilkas waited a few beats of their wildly thumping hearts, before he shook his head ever-so-slightly, his smile vicious. "Liar."

* * *

><p>Their journey back to Whiterun was a quiet one. Initially, Dryn had refused to travel with him quite adamantly, but he was already prepared with arguments to dissuade her from that notion. Everyone at Jorrvaskr knew, and Lydia knew, that he had specifically gone out to locate her, ensure her safety, and escort her home. If, he said, he were to return empty handed, or she to return before him unescorted; there would only be questions to answer, and, he assured her, he would be most honest in the answering.<p>

Dryn felt sick. She hadn't been lying, she had not thought of that night in some time, she had tried not to; but she knew the one he was talking about. The night she and Vilkas had defeated their respective Wolf Spirits, it had been a harrowing ordeal. Afterwards, they had both needed... something- comfort to fill the hole that was now in both of their beings. She had said things that she regretted, revealed aspects of her past in a moment of vulnerability, and yes, she had kissed him. They had gone no further than that, but it would be a lie to say that she hadn't come close. Now it seemed her mistake would continue to haunt her, because Vilkas be damned, he was going to let her forget it.

Inside the city walls, with Breezehome within sight, she broke away from him, but he grabbed her hand before she could go far. "I won't say anything." She slid her hand out of his, but hesitated a moment in order to listen. "Just tell me you don't want me."

She slapped him, but immediately regretted it. Her voice was tight but calm, insistent. "I love him, Vilkas."

Not entirely shocked, Vilkas touched the side of his face lightly where the skin was already red. "You can tell me you love him a thousand times," he waved the hand she had just let go of dismissively. "I believe you do. But I don't believe that you never think of me."

She stared at him a second, before taking a determined step backwards and away. "You were right, Vilkas. You can't stop acting the fool," the words were sour in her mouth. She spoke the last sentence over her shoulder as she turned and left for home. "Maybe you should keep your damn mouth shut."

* * *

><p>Home. The familiar scents washed over her, a fresh stew bubbling over the fire pit; the pile of herbs and ingredients waiting for her fumbling administrations in the far room;the natural clutter of dragon scales and bears teeth littering the small house. She closed her eyes to breath it in , the comfort of this tiny niche she had carved for herself in the world. Whatever tumult would come, this small space she had earned and it could not be taken away. Opening her eyes, she surveyed the room, discovering quickly that her elven bow was hanging on its rack – where it had been so conspicuously absent during the battle. Walking over to it slowly, she caressed the curved frame, greeting an old friend fondly.<p>

Behind her, she heard Lydia come down the stairs. "I'm sorry. I took it with me to Jorrvaskr during the fight." The housecarl came up behind her, spreading her hands in an apologetic gesture. "I didn't use it, of course, I wouldn't dream of it. Just... there wasn't much warning before the attack. I wanted to make sure it was safe."

Dryn nodded silently, letting the old, borrowed hunting bow drop to the floor now that her heirloom had been returned to her.

"I tried to get it to you before you left for Windhelm," Lydia went on, still explaining herself. "Then I tried to give it to Vilkas, so he could bring it to you, but he said..."

"What did he say?" Dryn asked softly. Holding the weapon in her hand, she tested the bowstring idly.

"He said... well, he said it gave you a reason to come back," she let the words out haltingly. "I'm sorry, my Thane. I shouldn't have taken it."

"No, thank you for keeping it safe," she set the weapon down lovingly, then smiled at Lydia. "You're a good friend."

"I hope so," Lydia returned the smile with relief. Abruptly, her eyes lit up with a sudden reminder. "Farkas! He's returned, he's at Jorrvaskr. Would you like me to go and let him know that you're home?"

Dryn did not approve of sending Lydia on errands, the woman was far more suited to fighting than she was to fetching; but Dryn was loathe to leave the quiet of Breezehome and the loud ruckus of the mead hall was even less appealing. She would have to abuse her power a little. "Yes, I would like you to. Please."

The housecarl nodded stiffly, then quickly exited. Left alone for the time being, Dryn took advantage of the solitude to collect her thoughts. She sat on one of the chairs by the fire pit and watched the stew as it bubbled away.

* * *

><p>The mead hall was glowing with warmth, as it often did. Even in the afternoon light, the windows sparkled merrily with the large fire that ran nearly the length of the hall and was always burning. The interior of Jorrvaskr hadn't known the touch of cold for many years. Unaffected by the passage of time, the upheaval of current political events, it seemed that the hall had been there forever, and would be there until the end.<p>

Inside, the members of the Circle had gathered – an event that always led to the other members coming out of the woodwork to join in the opening of the more expensive kegs of mead- and they were raising their mugs to Vignar. The new Jarl hadn't been able to get away from his pressing duties, but the Companions saw no reason for that to deter them from celebrating their friend's success. They were also regaling each other with stories of the recent bandit defeat, and subsequent bear hunt.

When Lydia entered, Aela was describing the final, killing strokes dramatically, her arms pulling on an invisible bow. As was the usual manner in Jorrvaskr, no one paused to see who it was that had joined them, the story continuing without a hitch. Lydia had to walk right up to Farkas to have her intentions known. "My Thane has returned."

"_My Thane," _mimicked Njada Stonearm, who had been into the ale earlier and probably hadn't needed to continue.

Ria tossed a chunk of bread at Njada, but not very hard.

Farkas smiled up at Lydia, and gestured that she should sit down with them. "Good."

Hesitating, the housecarl hadn't been expecting an invitation. She definitely hadn't been expecting Farkas not being eager to see his wife. "She's at Breezehome, I think she's waiting for you."

His eyebrows raised slightly, but Aela had gone on to compare the ferocity of the bear with the bandit leader they had just faced, and half his attention was clearly on her. "Did she ask for me?"

"Not exactly, but-" He cut her off by handing her a mug.

"Then get a beer and sit down." Farkas waited for Aela to finish an exciting moment before speaking to Lydia again.

* * *

><p>It was evening before Farkas came home. Dryn had not moved position much since Lydia left, but she had drifted off in the quiet, and woke with a start at the sound of the door. "Hello , love." He said with an easy smile. "When's the last time you slept?"<p>

"Mm..." she stretched, the muscles of her back tense. "Besides a minute ago?" She thought about the answer, but her sleep-addled mind did not come up with any answers. "I don't know."

"Have you eaten?" He set his battle axe leaning against the wall by the door, he had been showing Vilkas where the spine of the bear had taken a knick out of the blade, and moved into the house.

She grunted a negative, rubbing her eyes.

"It's mostly meat," he knew that she did not strictly adhere to the Green Pact, since she was far from Valenwood and had not lived among her people in a long time. But he also knew that she wasn't particularly interested in vegetables , and rarely included them in food he made for her. He'd learned in the first week of their marriage that she could cook just as well as she could wield his axe- which was not at all, and if she was going to eat anything at home, he'd have to provide it. "Have some."

"Are you taking care of me?" She asked, laughing softly.

As he passed her, he planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Somebody has to."

Twisting in the chair, she saw that he was getting her a bowl from the cupboard by the table. "Wait... I'll eat later. I wanted to talk to you."

He looked back at her, his smile fading at the look in her face. Bringing the bowl over anyways, he sat in the chair next to her. "Yeah?"

Fully awake now, she felt her heart pounding in her chest. She wondered if she should maybe take the advice she had just given Vilkas, and keep her mouth shut. The idea didn't sit right though, not with her kind, honest husband staring her right in the face. "There's something I need to tell you."


	5. Inner Demons

Ysgramir's tomb was quiet now, returning to the soft slumbering of countless ages. The sleeping spirits here knew the sounds of these familiar footsteps- these two had already proven their worth, there was no need to make them prove it again. And so the cramped halls echoed with every movement they made, utterly void of the violence of their last venture here. They were avoiding the previously discovered shortcut, and taking the long route so that Vilkas could see the entirety of the tomb he had missed the last time. Occasionally, he would approach a particular carving or statue for a closer look, but mostly he was at her side, taking it all in from afar.

Dryn understood that this was a very spiritual place for all of the Companions, even though the significance of it was a little lost on her. She had no connection to Ysgramor or Sovngarde in her heart, and now, on her third visit to the tomb, the novelty was starting to wear off. She and Farkas had come here not long ago, to rid him of his beast blood; and now Vilkas had asked her to also accompany him on his similar mission. Still, she recognized seeing all of the tomb for the first time was likely a moving experience for her new brother-in-law, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

After a while, the silence seemed to even get to him, and he brought up an old topic. "So, you've sided with Aela."

It was the same thing she and Farkas had their first fight about, after returning from the tomb the second time, and in the back of her mind, she was unsure whether the brother's might have been conspiring to convince her. "Farkas and I talked about it," she said, a little more defensively than she had meant to. She smiled at him to cover for it. "I'm ... not uncomfortable with it. Besides, I do not have Sovngarde to look forward to, and I cannot say that an eternity in the wild hunting grounds is not appealing."

"You're okay with... eating people?" Vilkas asked uneasily, reflecting possibly on such acts that he had committed.

The corners of her mouth turned down a little, "It's not so new to me." He sent her a questioning look, so she continued, if a bit warily. "Unheard of in Skyrim, maybe, but not in Valenwood. I grew up only eating the flesh of animals, my family was strict about the Green Pact. I ate the flesh of the very first man I killed." Vilkas made a face, but she pressed on, ignoring it. "As an adult, I stopped the practice – but out of fear of persecution, not out of fear of the flesh itself." She bared her teeth at him, teasing, and was relieved by a laugh.

"That's fair," his head shook a bit in disbelief. "I suppose I hadn't thought of it. Maybe you're just as wild as Aela. Maybe more so." They passed through an archway, into a room with more sleeping Draugrs. The undead were quiet now, their limbs and faces as still as they should be in death, but it was eerie to walk passed them – expecting at every moment that they would rise and attack. Vilkas continued to talk, to keep away the silence of the dead. "The promised of Sovngarde and Kodlak's teachings made the decision for me, it's true. I'm not sure where I would stand without them. I think, though, I would not like to spend my afterlife a slave to a Daedric Prince. I want a choice. I would like to be my own Master."

Dryn was unusually thoughtful after that, a frown creeping onto her face. "You consider it slavery?"

Vilkas noticed her sudden change in mood, but was unsure of why. "It's the trade-off. Power and freedom in life, eternal servitude in death. It is an honour in Hircine's eyes, to be hunted by him, to be his prey."

"That's not how Aela views it."

Vilkas held back a set of thorny, dangling vines for her at the neck archway. "Aela loves the hunt. She knows that when you hunt the wolf, or the bear, that you are hunting as well as being hunted. I think the lines of prey and predator have blurred with her."

The elf did not have much more to say after that, which was alright, because they had reached the final resting place of Ysgramor. His sarcophagus , protected by a metal cage, was off at the far wall, and in the centre of the room was the ever-burning fire. Dryn had brought the last four witches' heads with them, prepared to leave the extra in the chamber for any lycanthrope who ventured there in the future and wished a cure. She had wrapped each carefully in linen, and bag them individually, so that they could be easily tossed into the fire without ever having to look again at the horrible death grimace on each visage. She had insisted on carrying them, as she had also insisted that Vilkas wear his best armor, a shield, and bring as many health potions as he could hold.

Setting the heads down in a corner, she handed one to Vilkas, who accepted it with a nod. "Ready?"

"As I'm going to be," he said, flashing his best smile. "Are you?"

"Wait," she leapt up the nearby wooden steps two at a time, so that she was on a ledge overlooking the centre of the room. Notching an arrow in a sinuous motion, she aimed down near him. "Ready."

Vilkas held the head over the flame, and dropped it in. The wolf was upon him in an instant.

Ethereal and shimmering, it was the size of a bear; howling and clawing at the man who wanted to refuse it existence. Its jaw snapped shut mere inches from his face, the shield holding it back just far enough to keep him alive, but not for him to use his sword to any real purpose. Already, three arrows stood out awkwardly from its thick, rippling neck, every part of the arrows visible in the wolf's transparent body. Two more sunk into its side, and the wolf abandoned Vilkas for the more irritating assailant. In a single leap, it was up and on the ledge, crashing its full body weight into the small elf, sending her flying into the wall.

Vilkas charged up the stairs, sword swinging with uncompromising force into the back tendons of the demon wolf. Slicing clean through the thick muscle that connecting upper leg to lower, the spirit spun around at him, swiping with its massive paw. It was wounded now, though, and already Vilkas had the upper hand. He bashed the attacking paw with his shield, opening the wolf up for his sword to drive in at the head. The beast would not be had so easily though, and it pulled back just a hand's breadth and the stroke went from fatal, to merely painful.

Scrambling to her feet, her bow had been flung from her hands, Dryn brought out her dagger and, grabbing and handful of ghostly fur, drove the blade deep into the wolf's belly. It howled its fury, shaking her off of it like a flea. She tumbled off the ledge and struck the floor with a thud.

It was just enough distraction for Vilkas to move in again, this time an arching, overhand swing, cutting downward with brutal force. The wolf had turned its head at precisely the wrong moment, to see that Dryn had been discarded, and the sword plunged into the upper neck. With a dying howl, a piercing scream that rung off all of the walls of the chamber, the spirit vanished. Arrows, sword and dagger all dropped as if there had never been anything solid to hold them up.

Seeing that his shield sister was getting back to her feet again, Vilkas shouted in victory, raising his shield. As he watched her though, she went straight for the pile of heads, and tossed another in without ceremony. She had no weapon in her hands when her wolf spirit reared up into reality, high on its hind legs, growling fiercely. Dryn scurried backwards, as if surprised by her own actions, desperately going for her bow which had fallen a dozen feet away.

Vilkas' mind was suddenly clear, there was none of the cloudiness that had been long plaguing him without his realization. The sounds of the wolf below were familiar, but distant, as if they'd come from inside his head and now he was free of them. He nearly lost his breath as he was struck with his own pure, unadulterated humanity. Trying to shake off the feeling, he ran forward to the edge of the outcropping, looking down to see that Dryn had managed to get a hold of her weapon and a couple arrows off as she dodged the massive wolf. She came running beneath the ledge, the wolf in hot pursuit, and Vilkas leapt without a second thought. Driving his sword into its back, the hit was lethal, but not instantly so.

The wolf screeched to a halt, a deafening scream of pain tearing out of its throat. Dryn drew two arrows, pulled the bow as hard as she could, and let loose. Both struck the roof of the wolf's open mouth, slicing into its brain.

It disappeared just as quickly as the other, Vilkas falling to the floor with the reapplication of gravity. His knees struck hard, however he was up and at Dryn's side in a heartbeat. His shield sister had crumpled to the floor, and she was crying.

"What was that?" he demanded, dumbfounded. "You didn't want to – why did you do that?" He reached his hand out to her, unsure of what to do. It was not natural to see the stoic woman in tears, it seemed so out of place. Rapidly though, his voice softened, and he crouched down next to her. "What happened?"

"I couldn't..." she murmured, shaking with desolation.

"You couldn't what?" he insisted. He figured he needed to know what was wrong, if he was going to help her at all. He cursed the Nine for her tears, he so badly wanted them to stop.

"I couldn't be a slave again," she hissed through clenched teeth. She wiped at her eyes savagely.

"Again?" Vilkas took off his gloves and gauntlets, gently taking her hands away and dragging his thumb softly on her cheek where another tear had escaped. "Dryn, what happened to you?"

She shook her head, but her sadness betrayed her silence, and she could not stop herself from speaking. "They killed my father, and my little brother. But they took my mother and I. They kept us there."

He sunk down, seating himself right beside her. "Where?" He took her left hand with his, holding on to it while she spoke.

Dryn looked up at the ceiling, maybe for answers. "Caves, a mine, I don't know. It was always dark. I could always hear her screaming, but I never knew where she was."

"How long?" He very slowly laid his arm around her shoulders, so that their sides were touching and she was safely nestled against him.

"My mother... she lasted three months. They let me see her after she was dead and... I didn't even recognize her." Fresh, hot tears slid from the corners of her eyes. Her mother's mutilated corpse would be an image that would never fade from her mind. "I was there for a year, maybe longer. I lost count."

Vilkas was caressing the back of her hand with his thumb, and he could feel her trembling lessening against him.

"Are you ok?" she asked quietly.

He nearly laughed. "Am _I _ok?" He thought about it for a moment, recognizing the calming, clean sensation within himself. "I can breathe more deeply now. I can't smell your heart beating the way I used to. But my mind... is clear." Turning his head towards hers, he smiled his most reassuring smile.

Her body shifted only slightly, as she raised her chin and placed her lips against his. Vilkas delayed only a moment before returning the kiss fully, the softness of her mouth an undeniable offering. She moved into him, to better face each other, but their armour grated together and they were forced to break away. He quickly placed his hand at the back of her neck and tried to continue what they had started, but she turned her head away sharply.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, pushing to herself roughly to her feet.

Vilkas followed suit, taking her hand. "I'm not."

Looking back at him, her eyes red from crying, her lips parted from the desire that encouraged her to renew the embrace, she spoke hardly above a whisper. "I have to go."


	6. Forgiveness and Wrath

Farkas was quiet, much quieter than usual and far too quiet for Dryn's comfort. For several minutes, years, seconds – she couldn't tell – he didn't say anything at all. It was inappropriate, of course, to ask him to speak, to beg him to break the silence like she so desperately wanted to. His face was an impenetrable shield, hiding any emotions he may have been feeling from her prying eyes. She couldn't read what was going through his mind, a fault within herself that she was finding increasingly difficult to withstand; though she searched his features for any clue, she failed to decipher anything. Ultimately, she was forced to sit still and be silent, unable to reach out to him verbally or physically. Fingernails digging into her palm, she waited. He wasn't even looking at her, staring instead at the pot of stew that was threatening to bubble over – neither moved to correct this.

Finally, he moved. Raising his hand to his chin, he scratched at his stubble ponderously. "I knew that."

His words were like a pin that had been pushed into the bubble of her anxiety. Her knees felt weak with the sudden release. If she had not been sitting down, she might have collapsed. "What?"

"Not all of it," he glanced sidelong at her, his silver eyes glittering like diamonds in the firelight. Dryn felt a chill at the base of her spine when his gaze slid onto her.

"How?" She asked, dumbly. The answer was obvious, of course, but her mind was too thick with confusion to let anything in without a struggle.

Farkas set the bowl in his hands, the one he'd gotten for her and been holding the entire time, down on the small table between them with a jarring thud. Placing one hand on each knee, he pushed himself to his feet as he spoke, "Vilkas told me."

Dryn popped up after him, following him as he went towards the kitchen though she kept a cautious distance. "Why would he do that?" she demanded, still trying to wrap her head around the revelation.

Pouring himself a goblet of wine, he took a heavy gulp, paused, then took out another goblet and poured her a glass as well before refilling his own. He did not hand it to her, but left it where he had poured it and leaned against the closed door to Dryn's study. "That's what brothers do."

She could not tell by his tone whether he had meant that in a positive way or negative. Had Vilkas told his twin because it was the right thing to? Or to mock him with the knowledge of it? She could as much guess the answer to that, as she could why Farkas had kept the information to himself. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He only had to raise his one eyebrow for her to get the stupidity of her question. She swallowed hard and tried again. "I should have said something sooner."

Shrugging, Farkas exhaled sharply. "Yeah," he had another mouthful of wine, but a more reasonable one this time. "No one's called me perfect. I don't expect it from you."

There was a throbbing pain in her lower chest. "How can you say that?" That wasn't quite what she had wanted to ask. She had meant: _How can you be so calm?_ She was more angry with herself than he seemed to be.

He regarded her for a moment, his gaze intensely cold on her skin. She thought she might break apart under the glare of it. "Don't think I'm happy about it. I'm not."

Dryn shivered, grabbing the wine her had poured for her quickly to mask her involuntary tremble. Taking a healthy swig of her own, the alcohol slid down her throat and curled up in her belly, writhing like an animal and doing nothing to calm her. "I've been stupid, fine. Damn it, you should have told me. What were you going to do? Save it for a later date? Who doesn't get upset about that?"

His eyes narrowed. "Don't turn this around on me, woman."

She barely let him finish before she continued the tirade. "What am I supposed to do with that? You knew and you didn't say anything, at all!" She waved her hands expressively, forgetting the wine and spilling it over her hand. Aimlessly wound up, she threw the goblet onto the floor where it cracked from the pressure.

"Hey," Farkas reached out to her, touching her shoulder only lightly before he was rewarded with an instant slap to the face. He grabbed both of her hands before she could do it again, she tried to wrench herself from his grip. "Hey!" he said firmly. "That hurt."

He held her like that until it dawned on her that was all he was doing. He was just holding her still. Releasing a shuddering breath, she cheeks flushed with shame at her ridiculous behaviour. She let her head fall onto his shoulder, where his hands freed her, then his arms wrapped around her. "I'm sorry," she said, finally, her voice muffled by his tunic.

"Yeah..." he rested his chin on the top of her head. After she finally relaxed in his arms, he spoke again. "You're not very good at apologies."

She laughed without heart. "I am sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking." She pulled back a little in order to look him in the eye, her nerves soothed somewhat when she saw that his expression was still calm. "I think... I'm a bit overwhelmed."

He nodded, thought a bit tightly. "You did just conquer Whiterun."

A sick feeling hit the bottom of her stomach, and she returned her head to its former position against him. She had a dozen questions that her husband would likely know the answers to but they hit her too hard and too fast and some, she was afraid to know. She had set a fire and let it burn, without knowing who and what it had engulfed. Closing her mind to it, she asked simply: "How is Vignar?"

"Settling in," he smoothed her hair gently, kissing her head where he had brushed it down. "I think you should eat something, and go to sleep." He unfolded her from his embrace and held her at arms' length.

It was her turn to nod. Maybe she was just tired, she could never tell. Looking into his unruffled, patient face, she accepted that he might know better than her in this matter, at least for now. "I do feel a bit sleepy, now that you mention it."

He turned her around and directed her towards the table. "Food first."

* * *

><p>It might have been a normal morning. It might have been one where Farkas and Dryn could have gotten leisurely out of bed, talked the morning through if they had so chosen. They might have been able to sort out any remaining questions and had the rest of the day to themselves to be happy. It might have been a day just like that, if not for the screams of terror that woke them both up just before dawn to ensure no such day was going to occur.<p>

Dryn might have been dreaming, perhaps of some past terror or future fear, because she was already tossing and turning long before she was startled awake. Unable to rest peacefully, waking rapidly was no trouble and she rolled out of bed as if she hadn't been asleep at all; reaching for a dagger that she did not keep under her pillow at home. Empty- handed and not quite aware, she stared out the window, bewildered.

Farkas was nearly as fast to be out of bed as she was, but he had a weapon handy. On the table in the bedroom, lying sheathed in wait, was his sword – the matching of which was owned by Vilkas. He went for it straight away, grabbing it before joining Dryn in seeing what answers the window had to offer.

No visual led to them realizing what lay in store for them outside the tentative safety of their home, it was still dark enough for no real clarity to be given. Instead, it was the swooping, ear-shattering roar, like a thousand wolves howling, that passed over the rooftops that gave them their answer. It was so loud, so close as it passed overhead, that dust was shaken from between the very bricks that held the house together.

Perhaps cruelly, though he did not mean it that way, Farkas glanced at her and said above the din: "It never stops for you, does it?"

Dryn felt a deep, shivering in her spine, and trembling ache in her body as her skin began to crawl. She had woken to the Voice of a dragon, her whole being seized with the knowledge of it; she was no where near recognizing all the aspects of their speech, but she could not help thinking that she had understood the Thu'um. She thought she had heard "Fol" as clear as if she had said it herself. Only in the back of her mind, as an afterthought, did she happen to hear Farkas speak as well. Bringing her attention to him, Dryn had difficulty dismissing the statement. She had only taken a week's rest from the world, then the civil war had sucked her back in, and now there was a dragon on her doorstep. It was amazing she had survived this long in Skyrim.

"We have to stop it," she said, referring to the beast circling the city.

Farkas nodded, heading out their door and down the stairs, followed close by Dryn. His question had been rhetorical anyways. In the living area, Lydia was gathering Dryn's armour frantically, ready to assist her thane in preparing for battle. She held out the first piece, simply the gauntlet, but her elfin mistress hesitated.

Dryn felt the shiver grow stronger as the armour was offered to her. The last time she wore it, she was nearly cut in two by the fearsome fangs of her enemy. The armour had done little to deter the force of the dragon's bite; if anything, the act of it curving inward at the crushing blow had likely done her more damage that it had hindered.

"My Thane?" Lydia questioned uneasily.

"Put it on, Dryn," Farkas said, cutting into her thoughts once again. He had slipped into his own gear fast enough, opting to keep his sword and add his shield than switch to his ungainly battleaxe. "'You don't want to get burned," he added with an encouraging smile.

Sliding her hand into the gauntlet, Lydia fastened it deftly. With Farkas' help, Dryn was battle-ready within minutes. At the door, she strapped on her quiver and grabbed her bow, and her housecarl handed her the dagger to be placed at her hip. With the two of them waiting on her command, the trembling grew so intense, Dryn thought she might drop to her knees. She placed a hand on the doorframe to steady herself.

It wasn't fear, she decided; she wasn't convinced it was an emotion at all that had her shaking in such a way. "Wait for a moment, stay out of the way. Let me get a clear view," she said to the floorboards, but loud enough for her comrades to hear.

They said nothing, but neither would contradict her. When they left the house, they stayed in the shadow of it just long enough for Dryn to reach the street and send her gaze skywards.

In the inky morning sky, the dragon was a void where stars should have been. It moved faster than eyes and necks could follow, but Dryn had honed in on it like a hound on the trail of blood. Her dark eyes flashed a searing red when the slightest light caught them. A cheer rose up from the defending Stormcloak soldiers, reassigned to guard duty, as soon as they recognized the new challenger who had appeared on the field. Their own arrows had gone wide, or had not pierced the skin of the monster, and they had yet to wound or hinder it.

The Dovahkiin was walking in an awkward circle, her head following the presence in the sky while her body struggled to follow. After a minute, Farkas and Lydia waiting for a signal, or any acknowledgement whatsoever, they moved nearer to the street; but the elf held up her hand to deter them without looking at them.

Dryn wasn't sure whether she was waiting for it, or it had been waiting for her. The beast circled lazily, its massive wing expanse only a ripple of black in the night sky, long neck a pencil like blur. She was holding her bow at ready, but had yet to set an arrow in place. She was waiting, waiting for it to see her, waiting for it to know who it had come all this way for. It swooped above her, tantalizing close but not close enough, taunting her with its presence. Across the city, it ducked down at let out a burst of frost – illuminating everything in a blinding white flash of terror. Then, just as quickly, darkness set in again, only a dim haze where ice had erupted in the streets and stuck to whatever it touched.

The dragon couldn't do any significant damage, flying like a pest and spitting frost down beneath it; but there was no telling how long it would continue this game, before tearing whatever citizens came within its grasp limb from limb.

Frustrated, Dryn was about to run after it toward where it had just attacked, but she was delayed when her husband's voice came from right next to her. "Hey," she looked back him, his sword and shield raised and ready. "This is a good place."

"All this street needs is a good dragon corpse," Lydia agreed, her voice coming from Dryn's left.

"Call it over," Farkas said, not knowing the complexities of the Voice, but understanding his wife could not doubt draw a dragon's attention with it.

Dryn stared each of them in the eye before turning her attention back to the sky. It was still there, circling, toying with the mortals. Her skin was crawling. The centre of her being shivered once more, then shattered; her Voice roaring forth. "DOVAH!"

It was simple. It was not an attack nor a demand, and still it shook the stone beneath their feet. It was a beckoning, and it was promptly answered. The dragon screamed fury, unintelligible anger, and it turned its last pass of the city and came straight for them. The light was growing steadily, and as it dove toward them, its sleek frame could now be seen glowing in the dawn sun. With one, powerful thrust of its wings, it came to a dead halt just within distance for it to douse them in a gust of frost breath.

Her housecarl and husband stood fast at her side. It was out of their reach, with blades in hand, but they would not abandon her to face it alone. Dryn knew she could not fail them now. Each soul within her, a dragon she had claimed and conquered, wove around her spine and into the base of her throat, crawling like snakes into and through the core of her own soul. Each writhed and trembled, eager to supply their own Voice to hers, and she did not disappoint. "FUS – RO !"

Before the dragon could open its own jaw, it was hurled backward, tumbling out of flight and into the ground below. Even her incomplete Thu'um had caught it off-guard, enough to send it hurtling within reach of blades and bows. The Stormcloaks were eager to add their assistance, with the aid of the Dovahkiin and the brightening light of day. Lydia and Farkas made their charge then, cutting at the neck as it struggled to right itself.

In the process of raising her bow, to add her skill to her Voice, she caught the beast's eye as it began to straighten itself out. Its mouth began to open, just as it saw her, and she knew what would occur if it were allowed to speak. She sent an arrow with haste, but too quickly to be accurate. The arrowhead pierced the upper cheek, but struck bone and did no significant damage. It was enough to distract, though, and she only heard one word uttered from its dreadful maw. "FO!" Its icy breath thundered forth.

Dryn was ready with her retort, though she only knew the one word, it was all she needed. "YOL!" The fire that erupted from her melted the ice of the frost dragon, but with the effort to use the Voice again, she felt herself weaken greatly. The energy expended was too much, and she needed time to recover. The dragon would need to be taken out by more conventional methods. With her own bow in her hands, and each arrow she carried carefully selected, she took the half a breath's time to steady her aim and each missile was deadly accurate now. She had only the strength to let off a handful, but each struck vulnerable points; Farkas and Lydia were quick to take advantage.

When an arrow struck the dragon's elbow joint, and the beast stumbled forward with the loss of balance, Lydia cut into the shoulder and severed enough of the leg to make it utterly useless. As it whipped its neck around to assail the one who had wounded it, another arrow stuck it in the soft place beneath the jaw and Farkas sliced a thick section of the throat. The dragon tried to scream but only spat forth a jet of blood.

Those around the body of the dragon had to scramble away from it as it thrashed in death throes, bleeding out before their eyes. Farkas gave a last, spiteful slash to the upper neck before following suit.

The dragon could barely keep its head aloft as it cast its yellow eyes on Dryn once more. Blood flowed freely between its wicked teeth as it spat at her. The words it spoke would only have been garbled rumblings to anyone not trained in the Voice. "Aus...Ok... Bah... Joor..."


	7. In the Quiet Hours

Dryn rolled over, knocking Farkas' arm off of her in the process. It was still the middle of the night, the world around her calm and quiet in the darkness. Her husband grunted softly in his sleep, a murmur of protest as she removed herself from his grasp.

Something had woken her.

Every muscle in her back objected painfully as she lifted herself up onto her elbows, old wounds and fresh bruises stinging on every inch of her skin. Staring down at Farkas' sleeping face, the smallest wrinkle on his brow and his mouth hanging open just slightly, she felt exhaustion pulling at the corners of her eyes and for a second she considered going back to sleep. It could very well have been a door slamming outside, or a particularly loud gust of wind that had knocked her back into consciousness and nothing actually worth worrying about.

However, with the bones of a dragon still decorating the streets of Whiterun, she could not talk herself into ignoring anything that might be a threat. Dryn had to be sure that it was nothing before she would be able to relax enough to sleep again. Her bare feet slid out from beneath the blankets and pressed onto the cold stone of the floor, a rippling shiver rising up the backs of her legs spreading goose bumps across her naked skin. Pressing her crossed arms to her chest, she shuffled along the floor over to where she had discarded a dress some days before. She shrugged on the garment quickly before carefully opening the door so as to not disturb her husband, and crept downstairs.

The hearth fire had dwindled over the course of the evening, the untended flames hiding within the embers waiting to be rekindled, leaving the room full of shadows and a flickering orange glow. Dryn's heart leapt into her throat when she saw the distinct outline of a person in one of the chairs in front of the fire, until she came one more step closer and recognized the familiar shape of her housecarl. Lydia must have fallen asleep in that position after her last mug of mead. Dryn couldn't help a smile as she passed her friend, laying a hand impossibly gently on the shoulder of the woman who had stood with her through so many battles.

She left Lydia there, and moved steadily closer to the front door. As she did so, however, it occurred to her that of the three trained warriors in the house, she was the only one who had been disturbed from her rest. She began to doubt that she had heard anything at all. Perhaps a dream had woken her; it would not have been the first time that memories of screams and dragons had prevented her from having a peaceful night's rest. Just as she was about to turn back around and forget about this misadventure, the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle and stand on end. It was something indecipherable yet undeniable that caused her to hesitate. She had heard something. She had definitely heard something. There was movement outside the door.

With her fingers curled around the door handle, she grabbed her dagger from the shelf by the door and steeled herself for whatever lay beyond. A stray dog, she told herself. A guardsman passing by. She held her dagger in such a way that the blade was pressed against the skin of her wrist and would only be noticeable upon close inspection. One last breath, then she opened the door.

The street was washed grey with moonlight. Even the shadows were still in the calm before the break of day. A rush of cold air ignored the flimsy material of her dress, sliding over her body like the fingertips of a lover, caressing every corner of her with its icy embrace. Her breath curled around her face – the only moving thing in her field of vision. Shaking her head, she chastised herself for being so anxious.

As she shook her head though, the smallest glimpse of movement caught the very corner of her eye and drew her full attention. Far up the street, at a very slow pace, a robed, hooded person was walking away from her. The person, a shapeless figure neither male nor female, was far enough away that Dryn could not even hear the fall of their footsteps. Dryn guessed though, at that gentle saunter, whoever it was would have been just passing Breezehome at the very moment she had been disturbed from her sleep. Strange though, that a quiet footstep was enough to wake her. As she continued to watch the individual in the distance, she decided that there was something distinctly _off_ about the scene in front of her. The robes of the stranger were unnaturally bright in spite of the dim glow of moonlight, a splash of colour in an otherwise black and white world as if they held an invisible torch that caste them in a permanent radiance.

Unable to pry her gaze away, Dryn was in the process of attempting to convince herself that her eyes were playing tricks on her when the person suddenly stopped and turned their head to stare over their shoulder. The hood was pulled far enough over their face that only a gaping blackness could be seen, but now Dryn swore that whoever was under those robes was staring right at her.

From a hundred paces away, they watched each other. No words exchanged, only the silence of the night between them. Dryn felt herself frozen, unsure whether she was being rude by staring at a harmless stranger, or whether she should keep her eyes on an unknown enemy. So, she did nothing, staying perfectly still as her knuckles went white on the hilt of her dagger.

Eventually, the stranger turned and continued on their way, leaving the Dragonborn alone in the darkness. Dryn felt air rush back into her lungs, having been unaware that she was holding it the entire time. The practical part of her mind told her she was acting ridiculous – that she needed to get a solid night sleep and stop being so wildly suspicious. Still, a smaller part held her stare on the retreating figure; and in the back of her mind, somewhere in the dark, murky depths within her skull, there was a sharp, shrieking sound like the dying scream of a dragon heard from a great distance. It told her she had been witness to something just then. Something terrible that she should have been paying attention to, but she could not fathom what it was.

It was some time before Dryn re-entered her home, back into the cozy warmth of the familiar. The gentle heat washed over her and she quickly forgot about the chill of the outdoors. She left Lydia where she was, not having the heart to wake her, and went straight back upstairs to her own room. Stripping out of her dress quickly, she slithered back under the sheets where Farkas' body had kept them warm waiting for her return, nestling into her pillow and pushing the strange encounter to the very back of her mind. Later, it would resurface and bother her, but not now, not in the comfort of her bed in the quiet of her home where she could relish in a hard earned peace.

Farkas murmured something quietly, unconsciously aware of her return. His brawny arm snaked over her and pulled her closer into his chest, the raw sweetness of which made Dryn smile in spite of herself. She craned her neck just enough that she could press her lips against his cheek, and eventually drifted back to sleep in the arms of her husband.

* * *

><p>This is the end of this small story, leading into another that includes Dryn the Dragonborn as she continues on her journeys in Skyrim. If you enjoyed this, please see my new story "In the Time if the Dragonborn" which I will start posting shortly. Thanks for reading.<p> 


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